What are we calling it? The Quickening?

Hi Guys (and Gals,)

Wow, what a day. My man Scotty took his buddy Chris out on his boat fishing this morning. The guy hadn't had a drink in 12 days and Chris went into a grand mal seizure out on the water in the middle of nowhere. Scotty had never seen or dealt with anything like this before. He was freaking out, telling Chris he had to sit up so he wouldn't drown in his own foam, and then Chris was convulsing all over the boat making it hard. Scotty got them back on the shore and to the house. I was called and apprised, somewhere along the line, but I don't remember what I said. I should have insisted they call an ambulance go to a hospital immediately. I can't believe I was so out of it. I didn't see what was coming for sure.

Chris was feeling better, he ate a little something, and somehow a plan was put together, wherein since Scotty isn't supposed to drive, the neighbor next door, our friend Arlene, the cripple with MS, would drive Scotty and Chris over to the rest stop just west of the canal in Hampton Bays, and Chris's mother would drive out from Bay Shore, or wherever the hell it was, and meet up with them and drive Chris to the hospital in Riverhead. Again, I can't think why an ambulance wasn't called immediately to go to Southampton hospital, except it wasn't God's plan.

It's funny, because every time Chris has come out for awhile now, Scotty told me, he was bringing all sorts of stuff with him to give to Scotty. Scotty had only a limited framework to understand this, and, I guess giving away possessions was profligate enough that Scotty got mad and said, "Hey man, you're not moving in here!" Anyway, I get ahead of myself, but it gives us a little relief to see signposts along the way that things worked out the way they did for a reason. I know I failed in being called to the moment. It is the degree to which I am so over tired that I refuse to go to bed, although, now I wouldn't mind being hospitalized and sedated for a week.

There was some sort of negotiating going on, and that makes it infinitely sad, because Chris wanted Scotty to be sure and tell his Mom he hadn't been drinking--which, of course, is the whole fucking point of the crisis, he can tell his mother susurringly that he hadn't--but Chris had a pattern of getting over on his mom, so Scotty put his two cents in, telling her he thought Chris needed to get into a 28-day program, which caused Chris to shoot daggers at Scotty in his final parting glance.

Chris's mom was driving him to the hospital in Riverhead when Chris had another grand mal seizure in the car and died on the side of the road before help could arrive--with only his mother in attendance. Chris was 39. Scotty says Chris is with Skip now. Skip was Arlene's 27-year-old son who died of a drug overdose at home about six months ago. Arlene took it well at the time, because she says she had already lost him long before then. But Skip's death also came the same week Margaret, another friend of ours in North Sea died in a head-on collision on the same road that Chris passed away on today.

Shall I go on? Tonight, our friend Sue was telling us about the suicide of the 23-year-old son of a couple in her set, and how inexplicable it was and all she felt she could do was cook food, because words and emotions simply failed. She described the scene in the funeral home last night as one of being in a sea of the most beautiful young people she had ever seen--the girls all wearing long black dresses, and guys looking fit and strong and healthy, and she said they were all transfixed by awe. Really, they would be the closest approximates to an understanding of what the boy felt. I can't imagine what young people must be going through given the threat we all feel. The world I am at risk for loosing I at least tasted for a spell. Hell, I even knew New York before AIDS and crack.

Arlene is renovating her house on Peconic Bay in North Sea to make it a wheelchair accessible Bed & Breakfast. Our friend LeRoy is doing the work.

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And, dear gentle reader, do you want to know something absolutely wild? Both Scotty's sister and brother-in-law are company employees, who are currently packing up in the Tidewater area to start a 3-year gig in southeast Asia. What do you think are the chances of that coincidence organically developing??????? I knew about the affiliation but it hadn't registered, because I hadn't caught on to Scotty myself yet. I've been driving him up to Riverhead every Thursday for his parole for a couple of months now, and we recently added on Ronnie, from the North Sea Beach Colony. She just got out of the facility. It's cute, the things you learn when a little old lady goes off to jail--like I drove her to Social Security to find out that you lose your checks when you go to jail. Who knew? And Ronnie is funny. She's always dropping lines like, so-and-so "is doing a county bullet." If I had a context, I'd love to say things like that.

My friend V. called Sat, she'd been dozing at Dune Beach when a freak wave swept the beach, washing over her and her stuff. Her car keys got lost and she didn't have a spare. I went down, and we were dragging our feet through the sand, evoking Bosco, Tony and Jude, but the former owners returned a call to say a key should be under the back bumper and it was. She had bought the car the previous Friday, the 13th.

I don't want to keep you up, but just a few more, OK, because it's happening all around. My friend D just saved her dog from choking to death when a choke-chain-end got stuck in the deck. Then she showed me an antique Irish secretary in storage with a broken pediment top but the decorative element was missing, she said it got lost in a move. I asked, did you take all the drawers out and check inside the cabinet, and we did and we found the original beautifully carved Irish mahogany flame element! I'm peaking! Cleansed By the Fire! Brian, I'm coming home daddy!

And I sit here obsessively, barely stretching my legs, let alone exercising, throwing whatever food I can find down my gullet, but when I step outside, the young family I have in residence are squealing in joy, as they play in a $169 aboveground pool. Nothing could be more appropriate or more fun. I almost can't handle it, the way Berty plays with Sasha. I get the rough edges of my wound sanded off everytime they play soccer or rough house together--instead of with me.

I was even letting Bertie get his act together financially by grace-and-favoring his stay, but this weekend he insisted he give me some money and I said, thank you, I can use it. I tend to spoil boys, like I was spoiled, but most boys aren't as strong as I was.

So, is Phase One code for Chosen One? huh? huh? Have a nice week everybody!